


What Counts as a Confession?

by Artyphex



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anyways, Hospitals, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Medical Emergency Mention, Medical Procedures Mention, Oh, Saying things while high as fuck after surgery, Surgery Mention, Temporary Amnesia, Thank God Martin didn't film he's too courteous, That's what this is about, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:15:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27803659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artyphex/pseuds/Artyphex
Summary: Had Jon just proposed to Martin in a drug-induced haze?
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 14
Kudos: 288





	What Counts as a Confession?

**Author's Note:**

> *The hospital described here is based on my experience as an American at American hospitals/recovery wards. So if they're inaccurate for a British hospital I am sorry. 
> 
> Ignore the title I had to call it something

Martin should really feel more strange about how relieved he was over this whole thing, given how frightening it was in retrospect. What comforted him was the knowledge that Jon felt the same and the confusion towards their shared sigh of relief at the A&E doctor’s diagnosis of _“Appendicitis. We caught it in time, but we’ll need to get you into surgery immediately”_ was directed at both of them, equally. 

The pain in Jon’s side _had_ been something medical, which meant it would correctable, rather than something _else,_ which would be less so. 

When the relief that this was _natural_ and could be _helped_ settled inside Martin, the equally natural fear reached him as he sat in the waiting room. Surgery can be a scary word, and this was emergency surgery, two words no one liked placed next to each other. 

Martin had watched _a lot_ of emergency room dramas in his life (as one does when they’re sitting alone on a Wednesday eating pre-prepared meals and dully watching whatever happened to be on) and the images of flashing red lights and sounds of frantic beeping weren’t leaving his mind. He knew a real hospital wasn’t like that. He’d spent time in real hospitals when he’d looked after his mother. He knew how they worked. Wherever Jon was now, he was in perfectly competent hands. The horrific mishaps that happen on television dramas hardly ever happen in reality. That didn’t do much to comfort his anxious heart, or his overactive, vivid thoughts. 

The real memories they brought on weren’t pleasant either. 

He’d brought a book with him, a recipe book, and he couldn’t read it. He couldn’t do much else but rub the paper of the pages between his fingers and bounce his leg so hard it jiggled the floor. He’d settle on a sentence, and once he got truly distracted for a moment, his mind would introduce another horrific scenario, and he would close his eyes tight and try to think of anything else. 

Jon would be fine. Jon _is_ fine. He’d see him in just a moment.

“Martin Blackwood?” said a voice from the front of the waiting room.

Martin got up, trying hard to move at a pace that could reasonably be called walking. Clutching his book tight at his side. 

“Everything went fine,” she said. “Mr. Sims in recovery. You can come back.” 

Martin nodded, the nurse smiled. She leads him back into a long white, linoleum hallway. Little cubicle of thin grey curtains on either side, most had the forward curtain closed, but some were open, and in them, Martin could see recently empty or just-made beds. Or occasionally a person, looking very, very dazed.

The nurse took a sudden left and gently opened one grey curtain, just enough to let herself and Martin in. “Here we are,” she said. 

Jon laid in the bed in front of him. He looked...well like he was sick. Dressed in a grey hospital gown with white blankets up to his chest. Oxygen tubes in his nose and an IV taped to the back of one of his hands which rested on his chest, above the blanket. The sight of people sick in a hospital bed had a certain, personal effect on Martin. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Sitting himself down on the short black chair that sat beside the bed. 

“Hi, Jon,” said Martin. Trying to hide the waver of nerves in his voice. Placing his hand over Jon’s IV-free one. 

Jon’s eyes opened slowly, then shifted to him. Half-lidded. He scanned Martin once. Then, he started to mutter something. Martin could only make out the word _you._

“What?” said Martin, squeezing Jon’s hand.

“Can you...” the pauses between words were long, with each word itself elongated and slurred out as he spoke. “Bring in my boyfriend?” 

“I…” Martin blinked. “I’m right here?” 

“No,” said Jon. Eyes closed now, pulling his hand out from under Martin’s. Raising it in what looked like a limp attempt to point towards the door. Or where he roughly guessed the door was. “My _boyfriend._ He’s _out there.”_

“Um…” Martin looked at the nurse, helplessly. 

She gave him a look somewhere between amusement and pity you give a small child who doesn’t quite understand the world they’re in. 

“He’s still waking up,” she said. “He’s going to be out of it for a while.” 

_“Oh,”_ said Martin. The episode where a man forgets his whole life from an unforeseen drug reaction fading from his mind. Partially at least. They did say he would be fine too, at first. 

The nurse gave a quick nod. “He can drink water,” she continued in a very rehearsed voice. “If he says he’s hungry, give him a cracker and see how he handles that.” 

“Can he,” Martin’s eyes went back to Jon, who now looked as if he’d fallen asleep once again. “Eat like this?” 

“He probably won’t want to for a little while,” said the nurse. “But he’d be alright. 

“My boyfriend…?” muttered the shape that was Jon in the hospital bed. 

Martin turned back to Jon, rubbing his shoulder softly. “Hey! I’m right here.” 

“Okay…” 

The nurse chuckled. “I’ll give you some privacy. Someone will be back to check on you in a bit.” 

She left, closing the curtain behind her. 

Martin’s attention went back to Jon.

_People_ in hospital beds were bad enough but _Jon_ in a hospital bed brought back images he’d tried very hard to forget. It looked less dire than last time. The oxygen tubes in his nose and IV taped to his hand were nothing compared to the myriad of machines he was attached to last time. There was a single monitor in here with him, and Martin wasn’t sure what all the different lines meant besides the one for his heart, but he was comforted by the fact it was beeping this time. 

He took a deep breath and tried to sound cheerful. “So… how’re you feeling?” 

Jon let out a long groaning sound.

“Yeah, that’s about how I thought,” responded Martin. 

Jon let out a shorter grunt in response. 

“Hope it’s better than last night,” said Martin. “Not a good time, that.” 

“Mmm.” 

Martin wasn’t sure Jon could really hear him, but he was sure talking made him feel better. So he kept going. 

“I’ve been reading up on recipes while you were back there,” he said, holding up his book. “Thought I’d cook this week. Won’t be as good as you but figure it’ll be best for you to rest up.”

Jon turned his head towards him. Martin smiled. 

“I already got the week off,” said Martin. “It’ll be like a little vacation.” He did mean that. He’d rather spend any week with Jon than at work, even in this state. Not that he hated his job, but he did love his Jon.

Jon scanned him again, once, and looked somewhat desperately at the curtain. 

“M’boyfriend… ” muttered Jon. 

_“Jon.”_ Martin sighed. “You know what? He’ll be here in a minute.” 

“Oh,” said Jon. “Tell him to hurry.” 

“I will sure try.” 

“Thank you…” 

Martin gave a small smile at that. This was a bit cute, especially on Jon. 

He might as well play along, better than further confusing Jon while he was in this state.

“So,” said Martin. “How long have you been together?” 

Might be a bit fun too. Especially when he really wakes up. 

“Four…” said Jon. Stopping there before the word _“years”_ could escape. 

“Do you like him?” 

What? He’d tried to tell him he was right there. This was a unique opportunity. Why not ask? 

“I love him,” Jon said, as insistent as he could manage. 

A warm feeling bloomed in Martin’s chest. He smiled, a bit of mist in his eyes. “I’d bet he loves you too. A lot.” 

“Mmm,” responded Jon. He leaned back into his pillow and gazed around the room. He swallowed once. 

“Water?” Jon asked. 

“Oh, yeah.” Martin took the paper cup from the bedside table and filled it at the small jug beside it which was close enough that he didn’t have to stand. “Here” 

He slipped one hand behind Jon’s head and helped him sit up. The other steadying the cup at his lips as Jon attempted to hold onto it with shaking, uncoordinated hands. 

“I want to…” Jon took another sip of water and kept trying to after it was gone. Martin gently took the cup from him and leaned over to the jug to refill it. “Marry him.” 

Martin dropped the full cup. 

Jon didn’t give a reaction at all. 

“Marry him?” 

Jon nodded. Slumped back against the pillow, eyes closed again. 

“H-how…” Martin blinked, he reached down to pick up the paper cup. He did nothing with it, just held it and rolled it between his fingers. “How long have you wanted to do that?” 

“‘Long time,” said Jon. Sounding very groggy now. 

“Have you tried to ask yet?” 

Jon shook his head, the fabric of the pillow shifting just slightly as he did. 

“Why not?” 

Jon moved his shoulders in what might have been a shrug, or just an adjustment of weight. _“‘Ervous.”_

“Well...you might want to!” said Martin, looking up. “H-he might say yes!” 

Jon just nodded, and let out a long sigh. His breathing settling into the rhythm of sleep. 

“Jon?” Martin grabbed the rail on the side of the bed, shifting it slightly. Jon didn’t move. He was out. Totally gone. Leaving Martin alone to ponder what had just happened. 

Had Jon just proposed to him in a drug-induced haze? 

_“It wasn’t really a proposal,”_ Martin whispered, in an attempt to calm himself. It _wasn’t_ a proposal, Jon hadn’t _asked_ him to marry him. Which was probably a good thing since Jon hadn’t even known he was _him._

No this wasn’t a proposal, this was a sharing of a thought of a proposal, that Jon wanted to make. Towards Martin. In the future. Maybe. 

Martin had thought about it too, obviously. That was the sort of thing you think about when you’ve been dating someone for as long as they had. They hadn’t talked about it officially, but they’d talked plenty of times of spending their lives together. Really, they were married, in all but name. That could be enough right? 

Marriage _could_ still be nice. There were benefits. Taxes. Martin would admit he liked the word “Husband.” He was nearly thirty-six, he’d outgrown “boyfriend” a long time ago. They both have. 

_I want to marry him._

Jon slept on. 

“Hello,” said a sudden sing-song tuned voice at the foot of Jon’s bed. Martin snapped out his thoughts with a jolt. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to surprise you.” The nurse had come back. “How’s everything going?”

“He um…” Martin’s thoughts weren’t functioning. His mouth was dry. He wondered if this what Jon’s head felt now. “He fell asleep.” 

The nurse nodded, unconcerned. “He may wake up and fall asleep a few more times.” She looked at her clipboard. “He’ll need to stay one night, we’ll move him to his own room. You can stay or go home…” finally she looked up. “Are you alright?” 

“What?” It was then he realized how he must look. Wide-eyed. Sweaty. He guessed he’d be bright red from how hot his cheeks felt. “Oh! Oh I- I spilled some water. Sorry.” 

“Oh!” said the nurse, looking at the puddle behind him. “I’ll clean that up.” 

“I can do it-”

“No please let me,” said the nurse. “It will be the least gross thing I’ve cleaned all day.”

Martin smiled and the nurse darted off, returning with a rag a moment later. His eyes settled back on Jon. Martin’s heart hadn’t settled. 

Would he even remember any of this? 

He rubbed the base of his left ring finger with his right hand. Staring at Jon’s own hand, still resting on his chest. Just as bare. 

The nurse stood up, letting out a contented sigh. “We’ll move you in ten minutes or so.” 

Martin gave a grunt of acknowledgment and watched her leave. He wondered if he could ask for some of whatever Jon’s on. 

\---

Jon woke up in a room that felt altogether too bright. He rubbed his head. His arm feeling heavy as he lifted it. He opened his eyes slowly squinting at the light. Looking around. He was in a bed, in a room, a small but quiet room. A dark television in front of him. He turned his head, his gaze resting on the large frame of a person next to him, reading a book in one hand. Mumbling something. 

“Martin?” 

Martin looked up from his book and smiled at Jon. “Back with us?” 

Jon groaned.

Martin laughed.

“Happy to see you’re okay,” said Martin. “You scared me there.” 

It came back to him slowly. The sudden, stabbing pain in his stomach. They’d both assumed some sort of Eldritch worst. Martin was the one who insisted on the hospital, and they’d both felt very relieved, and Jon a bit foolish, to discover it had been appendicitis. Something natural, and treatable. Jon became aware of the dull ache in his side then. He shifted his torso and sucked his teeth as that ache sent a jolt of pain up his stomach.

“Hey!” said Martin. “Try and rest alright?”

“Yes, yes,” said Jon. Flopping back down onto his back.

“You’ll have to stay the night,” said Martin. “I can stay too or?” 

“No, no,” said Jon. “I’ll be alright.”

Martin nodded. “Sounds good.”

They sat in silence for a bit, Martin reached over after a moment and ran his hand through Jon’s hair. Kissed his forehead. Jon smiled up at him. It _had_ been a scary night, he was glad to be here. All things considered. 

“I’ve um,” Martin reached behind him. “I’ve been reading this,” he said. Lifting up the recipe book. “Thought I might handle the cooking this week.” 

“Oh,” said Jon. Cocking his head a bit. “If you need help-” 

“I won’t need _help,_ Jon!” said Martin. “I do know how to work a stove. 

Jon chuckled. 

“I took the week off,” Martin continued. “Thought we could use it to spend some time together, while you’re resting.” 

“You don’t need to take care of me.” 

“Really it’s just an excuse to take a week off of work,” said Martin. “Let me have this.” 

“Fine, fine,” said Jon. A fond tone in his voice.

There was a pause, as Martin’s expression went contemplative. 

“Does um,” Martin began to fiddle with his hands. “Does any of that sound familiar?” 

Jon looked over to him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“What um…” Martin sat up. “What do you remember?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Do you remember...waking up before? At all?” 

“I woke up before now?” 

Martin looked down at the floor as he said that. “Yeah…” his expression shifted. Dropped, for lack of better words. “For a little while.” 

“Oh no,” said Jon. “Did I say anything?” 

“A few things,” said Martin.

He looked put out. Had Jon said something cruel to him? In whatever state he’d been in? 

“Oh good lord,” he said. “What did I say?” the concern present in his voice. 

Martin smiled and reached over to squeeze his hand. “Nothing bad, Jon. Nothing bad at all.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by a conversation I had with Laura aka ilaural on tumblr and me apparently asking for my dad three separate times after my dad had already been brought to me when I was post-op. 
> 
> I didn't want my first Magnus fic to be fluff crack but we can't always get what we want. 
> 
> I wrote this for fun very quickly mostly in the middle of the night so if it has some problems, that's why. I miiiiiiiiiiight do a part 2 based on how much I did enjoy writing this but I WOULD like to get a real Jmart fic out first. Of which I have many in progress!!


End file.
